


Like Moths to Flame

by Rabakholi



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, They are so in love, hinted sex, just a bit, sex but not graphic, the slightest bit of angst managable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:41:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabakholi/pseuds/Rabakholi
Summary: It starts small, inconspicuous. It starts with small touches and their bodies and souls seeking one another, while their minds remain surprisingly clueless.They gravitate towards each other, little brushes of arms here and there in crowded markets, until the markets aren't that crowded anymore.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 128





	Like Moths to Flame

**Author's Note:**

> little sweet fluffy piece that didn't leave me alone. 
> 
> Come yell at me on [tumblr.](https://rhabakoli.tumblr.com/)

It starts small, inconspicuous. It starts with small touches and their bodies and souls seeking one another, while their minds remain surprisingly clueless.

They gravitate towards each other, little brushes of arms here and there in crowded markets, until the markets aren't that crowded anymore.

It is all around them, their love, their devotion to one another. It is in Geralt placing his hand on Jaskiers low back to guide him where he needs to be. Specifically to guide him to his other side, when he thinks he's safer there, with The Witcher himself between Jaskier and potential danger. It is in Geralt’s figure, when he's helping him up on Roach, hands wrapped around each others underarms, then wrists, then hands, until at some point Geralt doesn't let go until roach has done her first steps, almost like he wants to kinda make sure Jaskier doesn't get jostled off the horse

And at some point it's normal for Jaskier to have a hand on Geralt’s stomach, his pinky and ring fingers tucked in his pants, just underneath the waistband. **If** Jaskier is in front, Geralt's settles on his thigh, since Jaskier tends to lose balance when Roach spooks (which, she doesn't, really, it's Roach)

But it's a reason to keep touching and none of them think twice about it.

If they even notice.

In taverns, it's no longer sharing a table, each on their own side, but sharing a seat, sharing the wooden bench, backs against the wall, bodies slightly turned towards the other, their attention always taken by white hair, blue eyes, expressive hands gesturing wildly, lips wet from ale, deep grunts filling the air.   
And at first it was out of necessity, because some drunk patrons needed a seat and there was space, and Geralt wasn't happy with letting Jaskier ( _ his _ Jaskier) sit amidst a group of gropey little shits vying for the bards attention and affections. But it has long since stopped happening for any reasons other than Geralt prefering to feel Jaskier’s pulse vibrating the very atoms of what little air fits between them, and Jaskier liking the warmth Geralt provided, a living, breathing furnace by his side, just for him.

Then they grew closer and closer still, and now it's Jaskier babbling away at Geralt, something about the way he totally can take on a kikimora, a baby one, tucked underneath Geralt’s arm on the back of the seat, warm and safe and content (Geralt likes), and Geralt let's his eyes scan the room from time to time, assessing threats, before he turns back to Jaskier (who's suddenly so close and he smells so.good) to give him all his attention

When they go up, Geralt follows him, one hand outstretched and curled around Jaskiers hip, to be able to haul him back if needed, and to simultaneously watch his six. Never will anything happen to his bard, not when he was watching. 

It somehow, over time it ends with Geralt being plastered against Jaskier's back, kisses raining down all over his neck and shoulders and thick, strong arms around him, like vices and not ever letting go, and Geralt nosing at Jaskiers skin, humming against his skin and sighing almost happily, while Jaskier shudders at the hot breath on him. He shudders at the hands and the broad man behind him, at Geralt’s very presence settling around him like a heavy coat; warm, protective,  _ safe. _ Then they are inside, and there's kisses, and the peeling of layers upon layers and exploring hands and whispered compliments and secrets finally told. There’s heavy breathing, hot air mingling between them, and slick skin and Jaskier keening, and Geralt growling, and then they are joined, molten together like two sides of a coin, two incomplete beings sharing their bodies and minds and wishes and desires and vulnerabilities.   
It's slow, it's deep, it’s Jaskier’s legs around Geralt and his arms around his neck and they are kissing, open mouthed and they share their air and their space and their love and they don't know where the other ends, where their own body begins. It’s hot, it’s all Jaskier ever wanted. It’s all Geralt can take before he lets go of his own restraint and allows himself to believe in this, in them; believe it could be good, could be comfortable and a partnership; both needing one another, but also loving their freedom and the wide open of the Continent.    
Or maybe Jaskier just loves Geralt hard enough to love those things  _ for him _ ,  _ with him, because of him. _

Afterwards, Geralt pulls Jaskier on top of him and makes sure he doesn't leave, makes sure he smells of witcher in the morning, makes sure he's marked, bruises along his neck, the smell of sex and witcher on the bard like a stamp. Jaskier wears it like one wears a crown; proud, head held high, bright smile on his face when Geralt noses his jaw and presses a chaste kiss on one of the bruises. His body vibrates with the deep, rough bass of Geralt’s voice, as he mouths praise and loving words into Jaskiers skin, only for him, only  _ for him.  _ _  
_ They fall asleep like that, tangled together, Geralt keeping Jaskier in his arms, the younger not minding at all; rather burrowing deeper into his embrace, breathing him in, tucking this moment into a pocket of his mind, to revisit later, to remember when it all inevitably goes to shit.

And it will. There will be some monster, some quest, some mage coming between them. Jaskiers stubborness will be enough to finally kill him, and Geralt will be left alone; left on this cruel world without his bard, left in the unforgiving dark without his sun, without his light to guide him. 

But for now, it is enough. For now it is good. For now, Geralt will fall asleep with Jaskiers scent in his lungs, with Jaskiers skin under his fingers, with Jaskiers breath on his skin. 


End file.
